


Nothing Broken, Nothing Thrown

by scattered_pages



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But there's a heapload of pain and trauma in between, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Abuse, Family Feels, Family Issues, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Will be followed with lots of comfort and support by Mari as the story progresses I promise, character backstory, just as a warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattered_pages/pseuds/scattered_pages
Summary: "There is something very true about that saying that talks about how the happiest and kindest people often hurt the most inside, or how they've at the very least been through such hell that you would never guess that all of that was some time ago hidden with great effort behind the ever-smiling, protective, compassionate face that they always seem to wear flawlessly. And Marinette had no idea just how heartbreakingly this was true for the boy she cared for."
Relationships: Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Nothing Broken, Nothing Thrown

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING !!!
> 
> Unfortunately, this fic is going to get quite dark at times. It talks about how I envision the Couffaine family history. From their life with their father to how Luka and Juleka, as well as Anarka, ended up dealing with the aftermath of getting away from him. In between, there will be sweet moments of Marinette comforting Luka through each step of her finding out more and more about his past, but in between, this might get a bit too much for you if you are triggered by mentions of: family abuse, alcoholism, violence, self-harm, self-destructive behavior. Part of this was written based on some of my own painful experiences from the past.
> 
> Please everyone, stay safe and do not read this if you're worried that a mention or a description of any of these might trigger any negative feelings or responses in you.
> 
> If you do decide to read through, you'll get a view into how I see what made the Couffaines what they are now, ultimately stronger, happier and more free and basically the entire last chapter will be Lukanette Hurt/Comfort fluff.
> 
> As always in my fics, music inspires a great deal of my writing and the writing of this first chapter was very much accompanied by Suzanne Vega's "My Name Is Luka", as well as Hozier's "Cherry Wine", both tragic but lovely and utterly amazing songs, and listening to them while reading might complete the experience. ♡
> 
> Once more, stay safe and I love all of you. ♡

There is something very true about that saying that talks about how the happiest and kindest people often hurt the most inside, or how they've at the very least been through such hell that you would never guess that all of that was some time ago hidden with great effort behind the ever-smiling, protective, compassionate face that they always seem to wear flawlessly. And Marinette had no idea just how heartbreakingly this was true for the boy she cared for. For the happy, ever-supporting and bright boy for who she has now finally without any more hesitation started to develop incredibly strong feelings for. And she suddenly felt incredibly selfish and blind when she realized that there was a reason he was somehow always her shoulder to cry on and her biggest confidante lately, to such extents that even Alya could no longer compare. Because there was something so soothing, warm and accepting about him. Something that melted her in his hug every time, making most of her worries and troubles just naturally untangle themselves right in front of him, only for him to support and listen and hold her tight through it all. But he never did the same in return. In fact, as close as they were becoming, Marinette failed to realize how little she actually knew about a huge aspect of his life or his past. And perhaps, somewhere in the back of her mind, she just convinced herself that he just didn't have anything to let out as she did, that this was why he was as he was, it only made sense. But now, her heart shattered in face of her own ignorance. Now, _this_ was what was suddenly obvious the entire time. The sheer amount of emotions, pain and trauma that one boy had to learn to suppress and move on from.

And how did she find out? By being too nosy for her own good and taking a peek at a tattered notebook that was hanging from the pile of things they had to move to the upper deck where a former ship drawing room was being re-modeled for a new room that he could have all for himself, much to Juleka's quite equal joy who now had the entire lower deck room for her own drawings, designs and horror posters wherever she wanted them.

But one old, tattered notebook put a sudden halt to a happy moving event on the Couffaine ship. Because, as Luka, Juleka, Anarka and a few of their other friends were helping with painting the room above, Marinette was clutching at her mouth, trying desperately not to alert attention to herself, trying desperately not to sob.

The old, tattered notebook with blue and green action heroes drawn all accross the front page – was a diary.

* * *

"January 7th, 2012

_Today, we went back to school. I’m kind of happy about it, though. I get to see my friends again. I get to secretly buy Juleka and me a candy bar each day on our way from school with the change money mom sneaks to us. I know dad doesn’t like us spending money when there’s not enough for all the bills, but mom convinced us it’s okay if it’s just one candy bar. That’s why I usually just buy Juleka one and maybe steal a piece. I’m worried about mom, though… Her recording studio is only booked from the end of January and dad doesn’t go on his tour til February… I hope she’ll be okay. I love mom and Juleka. I love dad, too. Even though it hurts a bit to love him in the past couple of years. But he says he loves us in spite of everything and says sorry and smiles after every time he does something bad. Mom says he just has ‘bad dad’ days and that he’ll get better once he stops taking those weird pills and drinks. I really want to become a cool musician like dad one day._

_Luka”_

\-------

Snow was falling delicately against the cold Paris ground. The after effects of Christmas holidays could still be felt in the air all around. Most of the decorations haven’t been removed yet across the city and they made this chilly winter day enveloped in fog seem just a tad bit warmer. In one apartment, however, the interior didn’t match the fancy structures covering the modern building on the outside, nor the still-loving atmosphere left behind everywhere by Christmas and New Year’s Eve. This particular fancy apartment was a mess. Instruments and bottles laying about everywhere, even though Anarka cleaned them up just the night before. The air seemed to be icier than the one outside, even though you couldn’t feel it that way on your skin. But, all things considered, today’s dinner was going by fairly peacefully. Something she was very grateful for.

“Luka, Julie?”, Anarka’s cheery voice broke the silence, “How was your first day back at school?”

The raven haired little girl looked up behind her long bangs, but seemed to be too shy or perhaps too reluctant to speak. Her father noticed that and frowned. Immediately, Luka spoke up.

“It was fun”, he fiddled with his spoon around his plate and mustered up a small smile. “We’re having a talent show in two weeks organized at school”, his eyes carefully moved up to his dad, his smile still intact, and now quite hopeful, “I was thinking about applying as a contestant.”

Gaspard’s looked up and huffed out a chuckle. “To do _what_?”

The little boy’s smile dropped slowly. “To… Play guitar.”

Another grim chuckle.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, kid…”

“He won’t embarrass himself!”, Anarka interjected, her face baring anger and hurt that she’s been keeping down for so long that it was now slowly seeping through the cracks each time it rose up again. “He’s really good, Gaspard!”, she reached out across the table to place a gentle hand across Luka’s. “You’ll be as good as your dad one day, won’t you?” His mother’s proud smile lured his own back onto his face, but only for a moment.

Another snarky laugh. “ _Merde_!”

“Gaspard! Not in front of the kids, again!”

His spoon made an angry clang against the ceramic before his fist met the table. “If you wanted a fucking sweet rural gentleman for a husband and a father of your kids, Anarka, you should have stayed in the middle of fucking nowhere by the southern coast and married a fucking fisherman!”

“Dad, NO, it’s okay, you’re right, I-I… I’m not good, it was a stupid idea, I won’t sign up for the competition…!”, Luka nodded, trying to stay calm and convincing even though, underneath the table, his hands were trembling. Juleka just kept staring at her plate, face down, long black hair hiding her from the world.

Seemingly satisfied with this outcome, Gaspard smirked and continued to calmly eat his soup, like nothing had happened.

* * *

_“January 16 th, 2012_

_I’m a bit scared of dad these days. He got angry at Julie for stepping in his way when she was playing and swung his hand over her, but I managed to run in front of it and took the blow instead. She’s much smaller than me and it would have hurt her really bad. It didn’t hurt_ me _a lot, just that my cheek was a bit purple for a couple of days, but it would have really,_ really _hurt her. It was better this way. Dad never hit Julie before. He hit me occasionally, when he was really, really angry or drunk, and a few times he hit mom. But never Julie. He seemed to have felt bad when he realized what he almost did, it was really obvious, and he even apologized. He seemed really shaken. He even knelt down to hug us. I think he was close to crying. I was kind of happy, it was closer to how dad was a few years ago, it’s a shame Julie doesn’t even remember that dad. The fun dad. The hopeful dad. Dad’s been really, really bad since his band reunion didn’t work out and he stopped getting revenues from their music because of some issues that I didn’t really understand… I know dad can be better, if only he can stop worrying over his producer so much and if he stopped drinking. I know it. Deep inside, he’s a good dad, he really is. He gives us toys. He’s always sorry when he hits me and mom. He’s just going through a rough time, because his band isn’t as popular anymore, that’s at least what mom says. She says he’ll get better one day. I hope so too. Because sometimes I’m worried that mom is only saying that cause she’s scared of him. And my mom is never scared of anyone else, except him. I’m a bit more scared than usual, too. I’m not being very good, because I decided I really want to sign up for that talent show anyway and I’m going to get mom to get dad there by saying it’s a teacher-parent meeting or something. Cuz I really like playing the guitar. And if I show to my dad how good I am, he’ll finally be proud of me, too.”_

\-------

“I will _not_ hear any of that, last month we had enough money, what the hell are _you_ doing anyway?!”

“I only start recording in ten days, I’ve been practicing and gathering enough songs and material until that day comes, Gaspard!”, Anarka was collecting the pile of unpaid bills that she organized on the table an hour ago in preparation to talk to her husband, although now they were thrown astray. “Gaspard, I love you, but you need to realize we’re not young anymore, both of us, we can’t afford this place, we can’t afford this whole lifestyle! We can’t afford your… y-your…”, she faltered, her lower lip quivering in regret of even letting that slip out. Because sadly, nothing good will come of it. Nothing ever does.

Her husband advanced towards her and the usually brave and bubbly woman in front of him now instinctively took a shaky step backwards.

Gaspard smiled a wicked smile, twisted in the terrified irony of him being almost happy that she was able to make him mad again. Another release, another situation to explode in order to make himself feel better. “No-no, Anarka… Sweetie… Finish that sentence…”, he cocked his head in faux inquisitiveness as he continued quite literally backing her into a corner. “My? What? My d-d-drugs…?!”, he mocked the way her mouth quivered, too terrified to know if she should speak or not. “My _booze_?!” His hand slammed against the wall next to her. “You think you’re so much better than me, _don’t you_?”, his voice quieted town but the venom that dripped from it now seemed thicker. His head whipped back at Juleka holding her doll and her knees against her chest on the sofa, “All of you do!!!”, he bellowed, his voice filled with rage, breath filled with gin and head filled with complete disbelief of how his entire family could be so vicious and not see that _he_ was, in fact, the real victim here.

“You!”, he pointed at his wife, “You were just Jagged’s lost little groupie when I found you!!! ‘Nanarky’…”, he imitated Jagged’s voice like a child imitating that one kid they really didn’t like, “Give me a break! And now _he_ is being a superstar and _I’m_ being a failure, I’m being forgotten?!”, he laughed, but it sounded so wrong that it filled Juleka’s eyes with tears, “Were you fucking him before me, Anarka?”, he tilted her chin up, “Is that why he even placed you in his band?! You were his whore, I know you were!!!”, he was screaming again and the shaking woman in front of him was suddenly filled with gust of courage as she pushed him away, whiping the tears off of her eyes in one swift movement before she faced him again.

“I will not let you insult me or my children anymore, I will not let you talk like that again!”, she roared and, for a second, he seemed genuinely shocked by the sudden shift in the usual way she reacted to situations like this. He could usually control her, no one else could, but _he_ could. And he _really_ didn’t like that he didn’t succeed in doing that _now._ “I was a _good_ musician, a _great_ one, you were the one that made me leave the band, you were the one who made me believe you actually cared about me…”, the tears started rushing in again, her voice breaking but not faltering, “That you wanted a family with me, that we could do this together! _YOU_ are the one who ruined us all!”

Suddenly, she collapsed into a chair next to her and started uncontrollably sobbing into her hands. Tired, desperate, scared, and hopeless. For a minute, there was no sound other than those heart-wrenching muffled sobs, echoing across a living room far too big for the financial status of their family lately, and the wind outside. Gaspard leaned against the table, his head in his hands. It was so quiet. Too quiet. Because it was quiet enough for one sound to finally be heard in the other end of the apartment…

His fists clenched.

“I fucking swear…”, he turned towards the hallway, “If that is a guitar I hear… That boy is dead…”

“GASPARD, NO!!! YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM, YOU WILL NOT HURT LUKA AGAIN!!!”, Anarka all but screamed as she flew after him, chasing his raging footsteps as they stormed down the hallway, grabbing at his shirt to pull him back, “You can’t be jealous at your _son_ , Gaspard, he is your _son_ , you _can’t_ hurt him again, y-!” – a loud thud was heard as he flung her across the narrow space into the wall behind them and slammed open the doors to Luka’s room.

There, on the floor, sat the little shaggy haired boy, guitar in his lip, frozen in fear.

“D-Dad, I-I didn’t mean to, I-I…”

Gaspard took a deep breath and took a much calmer tone, “Give that guitar… to me, boy…”

“Dad, no! I-!”

“You will OBEY me, you little shit, or you’ll become a worthless piece of shit like your mother there!”, he pointed back at Anarka, her hands covering her mouth, eyes staring at Luka, afraid that if she moved, she would doom her son even more.

Luka stood up. Jaw trembling and eyes filling with tears, but his shoulders were straight and his head tilted up. “No.”

“Luka…”, Anarka let out a horrified whisper.

“ _What_ … did you say to me, boy?!”, the old rocker let out another one of those chilling laughs before it stopped as abruptly as it began its bellowing and in one swift step, he took a step forward, snatched the guitar roughly from his son and turned to the side, holding it by its neck and swinging it above his head.

“DAD, NO!!!”, the little boy cried out, and Anarka used the chance to run over to him and take him in her arms, “ _NOO, PLEASE DAD, PLEASE, I WON’T PLAY IT AGAIN!!!”,_ he tried in vain to try to wrestle out of his mother’s arms, “ _DAD, NO, PLEASE, IF YOU JUST HEAR ME, YOU’LL BE PROUD OF ME, AND IF-IF NOT I’LL NEVER TOUCH IT AGAIN JUST DON’T, DAD, PLEASE IT I-“_

For a second, it seemed like everything turned completely quiet and still... Until a deafening sound broke the eerie silence, loud, sharp, _violent_.

Hundreds of splinters flew across the room.

_CRASH._

The strings held the remains of the broken pieces, sticking at each side like ruffled hay.

_CRASH!_

Luka’s whole body went loose in his mother’s arms as she held him even closer to her, sobbing into the back of his head. He could feel wetness gathering in his eyes, but somehow, felt completely numb and empty in that moment. His one escape, his one love, the one thing he was good at – was destroyed.

The old rocker dropped the wooden remains and ran a finger through strands of course long, half-grey hair and left the room in silence.

And Luka playing the guitar was never mentioned again, at least not in that apartment.

* * *

_“February 18 th, 2012_

_I don't talk to dad much anymore. He doesn't like me talking much anyway, I annoy him all the time and it makes me sad that I can't do anything good enough so I kinda stopped trying for awhile. I wish we could be happy. When we were younger, Julie and I, it was better than now. Things weren't perfect, but we were kinda happy. Happier than now. Dad was happier. And mom wasn't crying all the time. I wish dad still loved mom. And mom him. I wish dad loved us. I don't really think he loves me at all. I feel really empty and sad... Teacher asked me if I'm okay because my grades aren't really okay anymore. They've been going bad for awhile now, but I actually failed a few tests lately. I begged her not to tell my mom and dad and she seemed really worried, maybe because I cried, and she promised she won't, if I try to make those grades better. She asked me if I was okay. I said I was and smiled. But really, I don't really think I am. I kind of just want to disappear all the time lately._

_Luka"_

\-------

The once fancy and happy apartment on the second floor was more messy than usual. But not the kind of creative mess that Anarka liked. And neither did Gaspard, even though he was mainly the one who caused it, proceeding than to attack his wife for why things aren't tidier around here. However, oddly enough, the air in the apartment was a bit calmer these days, but Luka and his little sister still had trouble sleeping every night so Anarka re-started the tradition of reading them bedtime stories. They would all huddle up in Juleka's room in the evening, wrapped up in a blanket on each side of Anarka as she quietly told them stories about her hometown by the French coastline. About the ships there, about how there was a legend that it was built by pirates long ago after a very powerful and successful group plundered so much throughout their journeys that they decided to settle down here and after generations and generations, their families and descendants still live there. About how her father taught her how to tie sailor's knots and how to perch up a sail when she was about Luka's age, and about how the sea was always a place where she felt the most free and peaceful. How when you're in the middle of the blue water, lulled by the quiet murmur of the waves, you don't need lullabies or bedtime stories, it is so serene and perfect that it can ease your soul into a blissful sleep within seconds on calm, starry nights. Eventually, she started promising them how, if things ever get even worse, she would take both of them and they would sail away, like her ancestors, and they would fight and plunder evil people, overcome even the worst storms because, when the waves get so high and dark that you can already feel the salt suffocating your throat before it even hit you, than, in that moment, is when every true sailor can use their inner strength to its fullest and find a way to take control of the sea and survive. Because there is no storm that a pirate can't defeat. And they are, after all, pirates. So no storm can ever do them any harm.

A lot of the time, Luka and Juleka's father wasn't even home these days, and when he came home, he was cold as ice, but at least he was mostly quiet and unphased. He didn't like them bothering him, he didn't really even want to see them occasionally, and occasionally, Luka would even see _him_ cry and then, for a moment, he would hope again, just briefly, that maybe, just maybe, he still cares. Maybe there's still a way to reach to him, to fix all of this. But Luka never tried, and he didn't even know how. Somehow, these moments only made him feel even more miserable afterwards. And then he would lock himself up in his room, he'd crawl under his blankets, he'd push away his action figures and notebooks and he'd cry as well. Sometimes for a very long time. Sometimes he wasn't even sure why. But he did feel a bit better, from broken to numb, when the rush of tears was over. He started re-telling their mother's stories to Juleka, convincing her that truly, one day, they really would all escape all this, sail away from Paris, and then everything would be okay. Because the sea fixes everything. And because they can beat any storm, because they're pirates, mom said so.

One of these evenings around a very tension-filled mid-February, things seemed like the usual. Or at least what 'usual' meant lately. Outside, Paris was still decked in bright, crimson colors, snow covering happy, bright Valentine's day decorations strewn across every cafe veranda and against many windows in the city centre apartments. Inside their apartment, once again, it was just cold. And not much else. This time, the chill reached both figuratively and literally into the tenants of the large apartment on the second floor of the condominium complex. They shut off their heating a few days ago because Anarka couldn't pay their heating bills anymore, but a kind neighbour borrowed them two moveable electrical radiators that they mainly used in their bedrooms and in the kitchen in the morning when she made them breakfast. It had to be plugged into electricity, which they still had, but it never went outside of Anarka's mind that next month, she won't have enough for electricity either, third month in a row, and then, she didn't know what she would do and how she would keep her children warm. But their lives now were lived day by then, built on promises of everything somehow getting better, on enduring everything like they did so far.

Gaspard, however, wasn't as happy with this. But he didn't really have enough will-power to do anything about it, which only fuelled his rage, making him spend the little they had on alcohol and colorful tablets that Luka thought looked like bonbons but he knew how dangerous they were and had to keep Juleka from accidentally eating them a few times, thinking they were candy. Because Gaspard no longer cared enough to at least hide them or keep them away at all. They were strewn all over the place, just like the bottles, clothes, dishes, and the pieces of their family that seemed to never have been quite whole at all.

One night, Anarka made sure Luka and Juleka washed their teeth and got ready for bedtime, one of the radiators, a bit old but practical and doing what they were intended to do, was buzzing idly in the bathroom as she helped Juleka get into her pyjamas. It got so cold that they all slept in one bed in her room. Gaspard usually passed out in the living room, fully clothes, wrapped in his coat, so he didn't mind anyway. Sometimes, he wouldn't even come home for days at a time. But today. He cared. Or _minded_ , to put it better. The last resort he had to feeling alive and fine with this whole situation was an abundant combination of brandy and those colorful tablets, but there wasn't enough money left for him to steal from their savings anymore to buy as much as he needed and slowly, but dangerously, Gaspard was breaking along the edges.

" _Anarka_!", he bellowed from the living room, his voice laced with alcohol - 'fortunately' for him, _that_ , was still fairly cheap to obtain, so his solution was to simply replace the role of pills in his daily concoctions by just consuming a double dosage of liquor in whichever shape or form he could find and buy it. "It is fucking FREEZING here!"

His wife adjusted her glasses shakily and peeked from the bathroom doors, gesturing for Juleka not to come outside. Luka peeked from their bedroom and instantly slid back behind the door frame as well. "We didn't have enough for heating this month, Gaspard", she said carefully, "You _know_ that."

"How?!”

“Gaspard… There hasn’t been enough money… I got my pay for the recordings I did, but… Your revenues still haven’t started coming in again and this apartment costs a fortune just to maintain and-and…”

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , woman, that doesn’t answer my question!”, he spread his arms wide and turned around, looking around the place with a murky gaze, “I’m the guitarist of the world famous Dark Concords, we should be able to afford double as big of a place than this!”, he stared of into the distance, eyes focused on an unidentifiable spot on the wall. Anarka’s eyes teared up.

“Please, mon cher, you’re not well, you’re not sober…”, she sniffled quietly, weary of any noise she was creating, any annoyance she may be presenting. “And you haven’t been a part of the Dar Concords for a few years now, mon cher… You _know_ th-“

“ I was a _STAR,_ Anarka, I was bathing in money, we had enough for _CENTURIES_ , what did you buy, where the fuck did it disappear suddenly?!"

"It's been disappearing for awhile now, Gaspard...", still calm and cautious, she attempted to muster up a brief explanation, like she was talking to a dangerously disobedient child that she didn't want to upset again instead of to a husband who, when he was sober, already knew all of this all to well, " _I_ didn't buy anything out of the ordinary, you _know_ that..."

" _HOW_ is that possible?! Where the fuck did it go then if _you_ didn't waste it?!", he advanced towards her, arms clenching.

"Gaspard, please... We-We've been over this... We'll talk about this again when you're not like th-"

"Like _WHAT,_ Anarka?! You don't like me like this, I KNOW that, I know that you've started abandoning me ever since things went even a BIT away from picture perfect!", his eyes almost seemed teary, but the way his frame shook was so violent and terrifying that wasn't capable of awakening any sympathy. Anarka gently pushed Juleka inside the bathroom as the little girl with the long black hair scuttled behind her to peek out. Her mother made sure to quietly but securely close the door to keep her away from what was happening, again, on a night she really thought would be able to pass through without this.

"You know that's not true, Gaspard...", her voice broke, tears rolling against the corners of her lips, "You can't claim that, you know it's not true...", her voice was gentle, almost forgiving, "You know I would give everything for our family, I'm still here...", she nodded her head, "We all are... We all want you to get better and come back to us..."

"Better?", his lip quivered in a way that sent shivers down Luka's spine as he carefully watched from the barely opened door of the main bedroom. "BETTER?! After _everything_ I've done for you, I'm still not good enough for you or the world, huh?!", his voice thundered and Anarka extended a shaky hand towards his cheek, "Gaspard, please..." -- but it was all she managed to say before her body was flung against the hallway cupboard, the side of it breaking under her as she slammed against it, blood pooling beneath the skin of her eye and cheek on the side where she was struck, blood pouring out from her nose, deep crimson as it smudged against her pale skin. Luka couldn't take it. Not anymore. No more forgiveness. No more trying. No more hoping.

"I hate you...", he hissed through clenched fists, face dark as the face of a child his age shouldn't be capable of being. "I. HATE. YOU!", the boy screamed, a second before patters of bare feet started violently running against the cold tiles in front of him as he basically charged at his father in full speed. What followed happened so fast that, within a second, an angry hand pushed back, full force as well, but this time coming from a much bigger and more dangerous source, just a small shove, a throw for the man, a movement that almost seemed easy from how quick and effortless it was, but the damage it left proved a stark, chilling contrast to this. All that could be heard in one moment was the loud, shrill smashing of broken glass of the door leading from the hallway to the living room, before a sharp metallic smell filled the air. Red soaked his teal pyjama shirt in such amount that made it quickly started cling to his skin like a wet tissue, pouring from his head, side side, his back, it was horrifyingly difficult to tell.

"LUKA!!!", the scream of a mother, broken, was shrill and so engulfed in pain that it would break even the hardest heart. Her own pain didn't matter anymore because, somehow, she was by her son's side in a flash, trying desperately to cradle him as carefully as possible in her arms, not minding the shards, but minding not to make them stick into his skin even further. "No, no, no, no, no... My baby boy... My sweet, brave little boy... My angel, no, no, no, what did you do... What did you do?!", her words were dragged along with her sobs, directed at the man now holding his hand in his hands, suddenly confused, dazed and afraid as his family had never seen him. He tried to say something, mouthing words akin to _'I'm sorry'_ over and over, but Anarka couldn't even look at him, she just cradled her boy and repeated the last words she said like a torn mantra a few more times, before she snatched the phone from the broken cupboard and dialled the emergency services.

Her husband didn't stay to wait for her to finish the call. He backed away into the entrance door, opened it shakily and ran outside aimlessly. In that exact moment, Juleka rushed from the bathroom, shivering as she jumped down into her mother's arms, sobbing, whimpering, stretching out a small, shaky hand to clumsily but tenderly smooth it against her brothers dark hair, wet with blood, as he mumbled out words they couldn't understand... to her? To his mother? Was he even conscious? Were they pleas for help? The sounds were so disfigured that Juleka thought her brother must have forgotten how to talk from the blow of the fall, but she still tried to make him feel better, tapping at his hair with her little hand like their mom used to do when she would put them to sleep every night. Slow, calming, humming.

It was an aching image of love, tragedy and family in the worst, most wrong way possible, hurting and seeping at the edges, tearing apart. Of three people trying to make each other safe when they couldn't even protect themselves any more at this point. And so they remained, the three of them, together, until the emergency workers tore them apart and placed Luka's screaming, desperate, terrified mother into one van, a kind nurse administering something that she kept promising would calm her down, they wrapped Juleka in a blanket and placed her beside her mother on the stretcher in the first vehicle, as they rushed Luka into another, bandages, panicked personnel and I.V. tubes blocking the view at the boy's broken frame. As Juleka watched them closed the door, for some reason, a sheer surge of terror coursed through her and she felt this incredibly strong fear that she may not see her big brother any more after this and immediately broke into tears again, this time even louder, more terrified, her quiet voice suddenly spilling into screaming, gut-wrenchingly painful sobs that out-voiced even the muffling, loud roar of the red and blue sirens of the emergency vans that were rushing them away from the hell of broken glass, broken promises and a home that seemed to have never really been a home at all...

* * *

The last few pages was Luka writing up what the nurses, his sister and mother told him about the whole event after he woke up a few days later, with a lot of stitches, an arm broken in three places, hip fractured, head throbbing, his small body heavy and tired, and skin still ghostly pale and aenemic from the lack of blood that still didn't quite fix itself back to normal even after a couple of days of transfusions and I.V. treatments and horrible headaches that couldn’t pass from even the strongest medications that they were able to give him. But he was alive, and they all said it was a miracle that he was after how his tiny frame smashed through those doors. He was concussed and hurt and broken, but alive. And he will be okay. For Anarka and Juleka, this was enough, and the poor woman started yelling at the doctors when they offered to explain to Luka himself the state he was in. Instead, she was intent on somehow making her children forget all about what happened. She said one of the boats stationed at the Seine’s shores is being sold and that her family will borrow her some money to buy it. They’ll finally have their boat, they’ll finally be pirates, free and happy and away from everything bad, taking life as it is, never staying at one place for too long and never having to worry about anything. She assured them of this. And Luka thought that, perhaps, she was just trying to shelter them, or at least to distract and shelter him from remembering all that happened that night, but in fact, she didn’t even need to try too much, Luka didn't remember a single thing from that day. At least at that point when Juleka secretly told him about everything, with teary eyes and hands that clutched at his hand on the bed so tightly that he thought she would never let him go. But he didn't ask her to. If all he could do now to make her feel better was to let her hold his hand for as long as they let her, he didn't mind in the slightest. And if all that helped calm his mom down was to avoid the topic of what put them in this mess in the first place, well that wasn't a difficult task either.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking part of this particular entry though, and the conclusion of the entire journal, was the final note about how he wondered, still, after they've told him about all that transpired, if his dad will come to visit him. Because he missed him...

"Marinette...?", a soft voice with only hints of panic woke her up from her trance. It was only than that she realized she set there on the floor, the notebook in her lap - which Luka most definitely recognized - hand over her quietly sobbing mouth, tears pouring for what could have been an eternity after she finished that last page.

Hesitant and careful, Luka stood at the entrance to the room on the boat that he used to share with his sister, in times that marked the beginning of much happier years than those whose end was described in that small journal, written in that large but cold apartment further uptown in Paris. He wasn't sure how much she read of it and it was as if he didn't know how to react. Of course, deep inside, in a way, he felt exposed, embarrassed, as one would of someone, especially someone he cares about discovering a darker side of his life that he tried very hard to hide and bury deep, deep into the past, but more so than any of the self-consciousness _he_ might have felt, he was worried at the state that diary left Marinette in.

But just as he parted his lips to say something, the small, shaken figure on the floor sprung up suddenly, closed the distance between them and leapt into his arms, holding him more tightly against her than she ever did. If this was in any other circumstance, he might have blushed, he might have chuckled, but right now, the only meaning this embrace had was a consolation and validation of how horrific the things he went through were, as well as of how, in spite of them, he was still here, someone knew about this, or at least about a part of it, and they still loved him and accepted him instead of judging him or feeling sorry for him. Because that wasn't an embrace of pity. It was of support, of love, something he never got outside from Juleka and his mother because he never dared tell anyone about this, his 'new' life completely replacing his 'old' one in a way that he didn't even dare mention it in fear of ruining everything. Maybe people would have even judged him for how broken he got after it all because maybe other people had it even worse.

But someone else knew now.

Someone finally knew, and they accepted it with love and, for the first time in forever, Luka was the one being cared for, consoled, cradled in someone's arms, instead of it always being the other way around. And he didn't mind it being the other way around, hell he made sure it was always mainly the other way around but, _god_. This gripped him to his core and brought him back into the state of mind and emotion of that little boy, standing at the entrance of his room, scared and excited whenever he would see his dad come home, broken and hopeful, persistent until he became angry and terrified and heartbroken and nothing more.

"Marinette...", was all he managed to whisper, voice cracking against her hair, arms wrapped around her pulling her even closer, nearer... The girl who now exposed all of his cleverly hidden and masked broken pieces while instantly managing to hold them together and patch them up, bit by bit, teardrop by teardrop as they cried in each other's arms, second by second of desperate hands clutching at each other, unwilling to part as if they were holding onto one another for dear life.

And if a single punch, a throw, could have broken him so thoroughly, physically and emotionally, as that one did more than seven years ago, than this one embrace was enough to stitch together years of suppressed pain, fears and loss, blissfully, fiercely, all at once.

“Do… Do you want to know what happened afterwards?”

Gently pulling away to look at him, Marinette blinked her tears away and nodded firmly.

“Tell me everything, please.”


End file.
